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My sister and I have different mothers. Her mother was killed when she was six. I remember her more than my own because I was a little older, and I recall that she never liked me. And as a child, having the only mother figure you know not like you does a lot to a person. It made me beg my father to take me with him when he left the house, and he barely liked me.
I vividly remember the day I took his life. It flashes through my head constantly. Do I regret it? That would be a hard no. To him, I ended up being a possession. Nothing more, nothing less. I honestly can’t even remember the last time he told me he loved me or that he cared for me. If you’re born a woman in his world, you were basically his slave. All he ever wanted was a son to carry on his name.
Sometimes when he would get drunk, I would try to stay as far away from him as possible, but I could hear him swearing my name from the other room. How he wished that my mother hadn’t aborted the child before me because it would’ve been a boy. And how he thought I was a boy until the day I was born, and then I turned out to be a girl, and it was the biggest disappointment of his life.
It was hard to be a young girl growing up in a powerful family. The strange part of it all was that everyone wanted to be a part of it but me. I would’ve given anything to trade places with any one of my classmates. I never had friends over, and I never went to friends’ houses. I went to school, and I came home. That was my life.
When I was sixteen, I grew boobs, and my father’s friends started to notice. And my father started to notice that they noticed.
I was officially a plaything.
“Adora, you have a sister, don’t you?” I glance up from my glass of wine and give Bianca a nod. “I can’t wait to meet her. Is she much younger than you?”
I don’t want to tell this family anything about my sister, but they already seem to know so much, so what does it even matter? It’s not like she wants me in her life anyway. She blames me for what happened to our father, when really, she should be thanking me that she didn’t end up the way I did. Now she gets to live a beautiful life in a privileged school. She gets to hang out with her friends and not worry about the fucked-up life we grew up in.
“Yes, but she lives back in Italy, and she goes to school there. I’m not sure if she wants to travel to America.” His mother nods and then starts putting sauce followed by cheese on the pizza, and hints of garlic. And I wonder if this is what his life was like growing up. A mother in the kitchen cooking for them, caring for them, loving them. How lucky were they?
“I knew your father.” The wine glass pauses before it touches my lips. I should’ve expected it since she was married to one of the bosses. She was bound to come across almost everyone at some point. “I didn’t like him.”
“I didn’t like him either.” I finish the glass of wine, and she offers me a small smile.
“I was actually surprised to hear he had girls. And your mother, I remember her as well. You have the same eyes, did you know?”
I give her a small nod and reach for the bottle to refill my glass.
We both turn as Joey walks into the room. He pulls out the stool two down from me, to make sure he isn’t sitting next to me, and reaches for the bottle of water on the counter.
His mother smacks his hand away and tsks him.
“Mumma, I’m down, I’m here.” He glances at me before he looks back at his mother. “Even when I don’t want to be.”
Burn! I know that’s directed at me.
“I’m cooking you both lunch today and then you’re going away for the weekend. Do you hear me, Joey?”
What? I sit there in shock. This is news. She didn’t mention this at all when she was talking to me. When I look at Joey, I see he’s as stunned as I am.
“I’m not going anywhere, I have to work,” Joey replies, but his mother shakes her head as if his words mean nothing.
“That’s nice that you think you have a say in this, Joey. You’re going away. This marriage will work. And to top it off, you will be nice to your new wife. Do. You. Understand. Me?”
I notice as Joey puts his hands on his lap, pinches his legs, then rubs it out.
“I have the bookstore,” I add with a shrug.
Joey nods his head. “Yeah, she can’t leave that.”
Maybe he’s just mean when he’s drunk?
“I spoke to Lucas today, Adora. He said he has that all handled and that you shouldn’t worry about a thing.” Bianca looks to Joey. “Your brother agrees with me, so don’t argue with me, son.”
I’m not sure what else we can say.
We sit there like scolded children as Bianca cooks the pizza and passes her son a glass of wine.
“Neither of you have asked where you’re going. Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious?”
“No,” Joey replies, then takes a long gulp of his wine.
